


why are you full of rage? (because you are full of grief.)

by sevendeadlysimps



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angry Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Cat Hybrid Antfrost (Video Blogging RPF), Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Cara | CaptainPuffy, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sheep Hybrid Cara | CaptainPuffy, TOMMY IS A FUCKING CHIHUAHUA, Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is a piglin hybrid, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has Wings, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wingfic, dream is a dickhead, they're both traumatized as fuck, tommy and techno both have some shit they need to work out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:13:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29374407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendeadlysimps/pseuds/sevendeadlysimps
Summary: tommy never knew what it was like to be loved.his parents had immediately left as soon as he was born, wings raised to the sky and gone with the wind sooner than he could open his eyes. left in the hands of an orphanage, small newborn fledgling clutched in the cold hands of a man he wouldn't know would do that much harm to him. his wings were never clean, grimy and scabbed with blood, dirt and sweat constantly; his skin not much of a difference. he was constantly at work, either doing his chores or to keep his life; at eleven years old tommy flinched at the sound of heavy footsteps, his wings immediately pressing down to his back and turning around so violently he almost knocked himself into a wall. small, eleven year old lanky tommy with growing limbs that bumped and jutted out in places, making all the younger kids steer away from huddling with him. cold, eleven year old tommy with a lonely heart and a broken mind. with shuddering wings and ice cold blue eyes, he escaped into the night with no more than a long trench coat and a charm to his name.quiet, cold and starving in the harsh mid-winters; tommy realizes that he maybe does deserve love.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit
Comments: 25
Kudos: 331





	1. there is blood everywhere, and i am lost in it. (i breathe blood, not air.)

oh, there's rats in the ceiling.

that's the first thing tommy noticed when he woke up, cold and shuddering under a thin wool blanket. the soft squeaking and scattering noises drowned out the silence in the sleeping quarters. with an irritated grunt, tommy sat up from his bed and comes a hand through his unruly blonde locks. something stuck onto his skin, but he didn't have enough consciousness to check what the substance was. with shivering wings, he sat up and turned to face the grand window to the right. 

it was still night; the moon illuminating half of the tiny room that fit more than twenty children. the start of the sun peeked over the horizon, a soft warning to what would be coming. tommy always preferred to be awake before the others, it gave him a head start for breakfast and his chores. he would disappear when the sun rose, hidden behind staircases and busying himself with washing to distract from the chaos and harm the others would bring him. he tried to convince himself that no, he was not hiding from dream, but he couldn't stop the cold rush of fear every time he heard his name. dream was mean, an older boy in the orphanage that always liked to beat down on tommy over the stupidest things. 

("you're so stupid, tommy. i'm doing everyone a favor by hurting you like this. no one wants you around, you cause too much trouble." dream spat, a pleased smirk pressed against his freckled features.)

tommy lightly grazed over the now purple bruises dream had left yesterday, letting out a soft hiss when he accidentally pressed too hard over one of them. motherfucker, the fledgling thought begrudgingly. his teeth gritted and his eyes hard, he turned on his heel to begin his work for today.

\--

everyday was the same. wake up, eat, begin work, hide from dream, eat, finish work, cry, go to bed.

tommy was next to the river, several other smaller children running around the riverbed laughing and playing underneath the canopy of trees. various buckets sat next to him, other children sat doing their chores the same way tommy was doing his. with a washboard in hand and a piece of clothing clutched in the other, he scrubbed away the gnawing thoughts that left his mind in shambles. 

most of them were worries, questions that would never get answers and fantasies that always made tommy feel a warmth he couldn't describe. hope, his mind called it hesitantly; hope for what? hope that maybe one day his parents would come back for him? to cry about how much they missed tommy, spending sleepless nights wishing for their child to be returned to them? for someone to actually like him? to want to hold his hand and smile at him, laughing and joking like the other children did?

to get out of this fucking place? to actually be full, for once? to be warm and snug in a bed at night, sleeping with no care in the world other than dreams? to cry and sob and scream, and for someone to be there to hold him and rock him back into serenity? to hug someone and not get pushed away immediately?

tommy wondered if he'd have something like that if he wasn't such a nuisance. 

the fledgling felt a stinging sensation in his fingers, glancing down to the bucket he realized he had scrubbed his fingertips raw and dry. he made a disgruntled chirr in the back of his throat, setting aside the cloth to examine the rubbed raw skin. it hadn't started to bleed yet, but the stinging sensation in his fingertips told him that it was gonna begin to scab over soon. he clicked his tongue, setting the bucket of soapy water aside to wash his hands in the river.

he took the time to flex out his wings, fluffy blonde and puffy wings that were still growing in. a book had told him that his wings never stopped growing, even after they matured. his flight feathers and bones kept growing, one avian's wingspan reaching up to 45 feet in her lifetime.

tommy flexed each feather he could, shuddering when two feathers peeled off each other. he'd need to preen them later, he thought while gently massaging his fingers. he glanced behind him, lips shortly curling up into a small smile when he realized no one was around. raising his wings, he spread them out into their full wingspan. 

he was only eleven, meaning his wings only reached about 4 foot long on each side. they still provided him comfort at night sleeping, managing to keep most of the cold from chilling his bones fully. tommy always wondered excitedly how long they'd get in the future, dreamed of soaring into the clouds one day and never coming back to this hellhole. gliding among the clouds and bathing in the sun with other avians. chirping and cheeping excitedly to himself, tommy closed his wings slowly and comfortably. 

he imagined drifting among the clouds, the sun casting a pink glow over the expanse of the sky. long, blonde feathers dancing and twisting in the light and drawn out laughter emanating from tommy himself. a faceless figure danced with him, perhaps his mother or siblings-- happy and contempt. maybe they looked the same, sharing ice blue eyes with his parents or his fluffy blonde wings. 

a sharp thorn in his spine told him that he would never know, because they don’t care about you, tommy. he wasn’t quite ready to admit the voice always sounded like dream, loud and ringing in his ears. tommy pushed the thought to the back of his mind, not allowing it to fester and drag him to the bottom.

for a silent second, tommy allowed himself to long for home. 

(quietly, tommy questioned what “home” was.)

\--

“time for bed.”

the man called out across the bustling common room, children of all ages and sizes attempting to squeeze their way through the tiniest gaps and get to where they needed to be. nervous and idle chatter filled the sweaty silence, either friends muttering nervously or work partners shouting across crowds to get their point across. tommy was squished between two other children in the back of the crowd, attempting to make his way into the bathroom to clean up as best as he could.

the room smelled like sweat, feces and blood. mother moon casting her rays through a pathetic window to the side of the common area, half covered by the tattered cloth of what used to be a curtain. the floor covered in dirt and other various substances, evident of a horribly lived condition. tommy knew well that children-- no, mortals, shouldn’t live like this. he’d known it since he learned to read, books telling him tales of homes that didn’t feel like a job to live in. tales of mothers rocking a newborn to bed or princes saving princesses from dragons. no book spoke about a lonely child struggling to survive in a place that was supposed to be home.

“fuck- off-” the eleven year old spat through gritted teeth, attempting to make his way through two people fighting to get into the bathroom. they both smelled like blood; tommy ignored. he pressed his shoulders harshly against the younger girl in front of him, biting back a smirk of success when he’d heard the girl yelp and falter against him. he shoved his way into the bathroom, scrambling across children laying against the floor to reach the basin in the back of the room. tommy neared the basin, but he froze as soon as he heard the familiar voice call out distantly. 

“tommy.”

he didn’t dare turn around, didn’t attempt to respond-- he was frozen in place, hands trembling against the side of his hips. he heard footsteps walk up behind him slowly, heavy and two lighter ones following behind. they stopped directly behind him, an unknown person giggled behind him and he felt a hand grasp a group of his feathers.

his brain screamed with hatred and resistance. something primal took the reigns of his body for a moment, a comforting hand being placed onto his shoulder as he acted without thinking first. 

immediately tommy shot around, his first instinct to sock the offender in the jaw. surprisingly, he hit. an unknown figure clattered to the ground, hissing out obscenities and cradling his hurt jaw. tommy felt fire in his veins, a strange power being pumped out by his heart instead of blood. he did that! i fucking rule! his brain cheered.

the other who was following dream, a boy with odd glasses and brown hair, dropped to his knees to comfort the other. he didn’t spare a glance to tommy, muttering comfort in a foreign language to the boy who laid curled on the ground. tommy resisted scoffing at the display.

tommy still felt the fire brewing in his veins, holding him tight and whispering into his ear something he couldn’t understand through hearing but through soul. 

his first sight of dream was the fourteen year old storming through the bathroom to try and reach tommy, a fury in his eyes that tommy knew well. two sides of tommy shouted in protest, one to run and the other to fight. tommy mood fell, washing down the drain like a pot of ice cold water had been dumped over him; he couldn’t win against dream.

the fledgling felt a hand collide violently into his jaw, throwing him to the ground. tommy weighed almost to nothing, so when the fourteen year old threw a foot into his gut he couldn’t help but cry out in distress. he felt the air escape from his lungs, the foot digging harshly into his stomach making a staple of nausea burn his throat.. he couldn’t focus; voices becoming blank murmurs in the back of his head. all he could feel was the sharp pain from all over his body, limbs twisting and feathers being torn out of sockets. his mind was screaming each time his wings were touched, a part of him that he hadn’t heard from in so long screaming along with it. 

dream was spitting something at him, voice harsh and screaming obscenities into his face as he continued to ram his foot into the eleven year old’s stomach. tommy couldn’t understand, could only focus on the tears cascading down the grimy pale of his face and the feeling of sickness beginning to overtake his senses. he thinks he’s bleeding, but can’t differentiate the substance of vomit from blood in his current state. 

it hurts! it hurts! it hurts! please stop! i don’t want to hurt anymore!

tommy didn’t realize he was saying it out loud over the ringing in his ears. 

by the time dream had stopped, he didn’t realize until someone was pulling him up by the shoulders and sitting him against a concrete wall. he saw the fuzzy figure of what looked to be the man stare back at him, mouth moving with words he couldn’t hear. his mind was still screaming, and by now he could realize he was shaking so violently he couldn’t manage to keep still. there was blood coating what used to be the dirt soaked bathroom, and it took him only a few moments to realize it was his.

black dots spotted his vision, hindsight going blurry as the man attempted to keep tommy awake. he didn’t understand, he was tired, why wouldn’t he let him sleep? the man was yelling now, his hands cradling tommys face and rubbing his cheeks worriedly. with a light heart, tommy realized this was the most affection anyone had ever shown him. he couldn’t give half a mind to realize that it was because he was on the verge of passing out, only focusing on the part that someone cared enough to help him for once.

the thought was brushed away violently when he realized how he got in this situation in the first place. 

he hated this place. hated the food, hated the stupid fucking blanket he had been forced to sleep with. hated the people that walked around like they owned the place, fucking with people that couldn’t protect themselves. what a bunch of sick and twisted motherfuckers, tommy thought with a voice that was unlike his own.

he hated dream the most.

the man had quieted down now, tommy wearily recognizing another feminine face amongst the brightness of the ceiling lights. they were speaking, the man glancing back at tommy every so often with an expression that screamed concern. although, tommy could tell it wasn’t about him at all. after a few moments of speaking, the man stood up and shouted at the door frame.

it made tommy’s ears start ringing again, which caused the black spots in his eyesight to grow larger until he couldn’t stand keeping them open anymore.

tommy passed out on the floor, in a pool of his own blood and vomit-- bruised and battered beyond repair, children scampering across his body and ignoring him completely. feathers scattered across marble, blonde turning blood red and faces turning into unrecognizable squares; all tommy knew is that he hated them beyond himself. 

he could still hear the rats, scampering and squeaking above him- claws scratching against the ceiling.


	2. when will i stop belonging to this hungry thing inside me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trapped inside his own sorrows, blood-stained hands beg for redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!! lmao happy valentines day!! i hope this is good!!
> 
> introduction to the blade-- i love him sm.
> 
> listen to cherry wine while reading this chapter- very good mood setter.

the sun beat down hot and judging on technoblade’s face.

there he stood in the center of a bloodbath, seven different bodies laid mutilated on the ground surrounding him. his hands were dripping with blood, none of it his own. there was a knot in his stomach, tight and twisting violently as he stared upon the scene that greeted him.

in his palms was a clump of hair, and connected to the hair was the severed head of his final opponent. the head’s face was still taut in an expression of fear, eyes blown wide and mouth gaping. blood trickled from it’s mouth, landing on the ankle of technoblade’s leg. it dripped down his ankle until it finally reached the ground, grouping with the rest of the crimson substance.

the sound of the arena seemed drowned out by the shame beginning to curdle in his stomach. technoblade could feel his heart began to race from reasons other than overexertion, shoulders begin to shake in such a way he hoped the audience wouldn’t notice.

_ “THE BOAR IS VICTORIOUS!” _

what a bunch of fucking idiots.

technoblade had no time for thought, even though his mind pleaded with his heart to be allowed some time. thinking would get him killed right now, it’d have to wait for later. tech forced his head up to look at the crowd, biting back a wince at how the open cut on his neck moved. his shoulder length pink hair was half stuck to his neck, dried blood keeping it in place. technoblade internally scoffed at it, irritation bubbling up among guilt in his stomach. 

everyone was watching him. throwing flowers or other mindless items into the arena, the objects stained with blood immediately as it touched the ground. he never paid attention to them; he wasn’t allowed to keep them anyway. there were thousands upon thousands of people, just like there was any other night. people with faces that he couldn’t remember, of all species and backgrounds coming to watch  _ a fourteen year old  _ murder prisoners as a death sentence. technoblade hadn’t known much of the real world, but even he could tell that this place wasn’t morally right in the slightest. tech had basically burned the faces of fear and terror into his mind, prisoners flinching back in distress every time technoblade would be released into the arena. 

they’d be tossed a few swords and a couple shields if they were lucky, and then release the strain on technoblade’s wrists and ankles. the crowd would scream their usual chant,  _ “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD~”,  _ and then a massacre would begin. afterward, the young piglin hybrid would be put back in restraints and escorted back to the small cell he’d been living in since he was a baby. 

right now, it didn’t seem like it would be very different.

a man wearing netherite armor broke through the iron door on the southwest side of the arena, carrying heavy restraints along with a muzzle. technoblade felt a seer of rage pulse through his body, his hands shaking with the thrum of adrenaline still coursing through them. with a click of his tongue, he forced himself to look away from the man back to the crowd. they had quieted down just a little bit, loud chants and mindless screaming still echoing through the arena as most of them began to leave. technoblade bared his teeth to the crowd one last time, igniting a louder wave of animalistic sounds in retaliation.

this part always hurts the most. the leaving-- he wished he could do that, too. instead, technoblade felt heavy handcuffs being latched onto his wrists, digging into his pale skin and causing marks that would stay for hours after. his ankles followed suit; he didn’t fight back. he learned a long time ago that fighting back would only make his situation worse. a mouth guard was placed over his mouth first, and then a muzzle following second. a growl ripped through his throat in slight protest, causing the man to startle slightly before relaxing. he heard a scoff, and then something heavy connected to his back.

“get going, freak.” he spoke, a certain tone only reserved for animals lacing his words like poison. 

**[“kill, kill, kill kill, KILL, KILL, KILL, KILL, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD-”** _ the voices whispered. ] _

techno made no noise in response instead beginning the familiar path back into the containment facility. he ignored the build up of voices that screamed in his head, hoping that the man wouldn’t notice his shaking.

-

“technoblade!”

a soft, masculine voice broke through technoblade’s thoughts. head snapping up to find the source, his eyes softened at the sight of the newest addition to the arena. a hybrid, like himself, named  _ ranboo _ . he was only twelve years old, with fluffy black-and-white hair that he never took care of. he was unusually tall for his age, already towering over technoblade and most mortals held in the containment facility. technoblade wasn’t quite sure where ranboo had come from, or  _ what _ he was- but he convinced himself that it didn’t matter. the voices had shrieked in protest, but eventually they too had warmed up to the boy enough that they turned into adoration. 

he offered ranboo a short, forgiving look that he hoped he understood-- tech had been lugged over to a medic and been "patched up", if you could even call it that, most of his skin and hair was still covered in blood and dirt. the man behind him grunted, and shoved the sharp end of his heel into the back of technoblade’s leg to keep him going. technoblade bit back a noise of protest, instead sighing and continuing to walk to where his cell would be located. he’d speak to ranboo later, he thought-- while washing his hair and what not. 

there were around eight people in technoblade’s cell block-- almost all of them being fresh meat. he’d picked up  _ some  _ of their names; a cat hybrid named antfrost, a man named calvin, a sheep hybrid named puffy and someone named callahan-- he had never heard callahan speak before, only overheard antfrost mention his name to puffy once or twice. all of them were much older than he and ranboo, often protective of the two for being children. surprisingly, techno saw it comforting. ranboo was located directly in front of technoblades cell, meaning that they often chatted and comforted each other after facing crowds. technoblade was granted the pleasure of becoming close to the half toned hybrid. 

calvin was directly to the left of technoblade, and sometimes the man would sneak snacks to him through the bars after particularly awful days in the arena. technoblade would do the same-- he’d seen the terrors and foes he fought in the arena, and the man’s confidence and fever in fighting made him almost seem invincible-- godlike. technoblade silently praised him for that, feeling a small bubble of idolization. he had been there two years and a half, technoblade had been a witness to his attempted escape-- which landed him a cell in the isolated quatrain for an entire year.

antfrost was to the right of ranboo’s cell, he was often sat against the cell bars and using his hands to make strange symbols that technoblade didn’t understand to a cell that wasn’t in his sight-- he assumed it was callahans. antfrost was nice enough, but he never really was released from his cell all too much. he had always offered sympathetic smiles to tech when he was caught staring, ant’s ears tilting down in a way that could almost be described as pity. it made the pit in techno’s stomach feel a bit deeper each time. ant didn’t speak much either, only stared out the tiny window of his cell or used his claws to draw on the wall. tech often found himself staring at the drawings to lull himself to sleep. 

puffy-- or  _ captain _ puffy-- she had corrected him one day, a smug grin on her face-- was to the left of technoblade. she was a captain of  _ andromeda’s sailors, _ a pirate gang that used to sail the seas long before technoblade was even born. she had settled down into a nation called l’manburg to have her son and let him live a normal life- where she was then taken by the government and placed here when her son was only six years old. she had been here the longest-- she was the closest techno would ever get to a mother figure. she didn’t participate in the arena; instead, men and women would come in every so often and shave her hair off. technoblade assumed it was something to do with how she was a sheep hybrid-- better material, perhaps? right now, she had long, curly white hair that fell over her shoulders like clouds, with tiny grey horns that peaked through it like mountains. her eyes were blue-- with strange pupils like rectangles on their side. to techno, she looked like comfort. he was sure her son had a wonderful mother. puffy was the one who talked to technoblade the most, other than ranboo of course-- she always had, after she realized that  _ yes, that man did just put a baby into a cell alone.  _ she often would tell technoblade stories of her travels and adventures, and technoblade would listen to her with every inch of his attention- no matter what.

the man behind tech opened the door to his cell, shoving him in roughly and following behind. he unlocked the handcuffs around his wrists, the heavy metal finally falling to the floor at long last. tech grunted, immediately going to rub the sore, red marks they had left behind. the man dropped into a crouch to remove the ankle cuffs, those too falling to the ground with a sharp chlunk. dormant emotions started to float to the top now that technoblade knew he wasn’t in any immediate danger, his shoulders slumping and his eyebrows furrowing as he attempted to sooth his wrists. the man harshly pulled back technoblades hair to unlock the muzzle, eliciting a muffled snarl to fall from his mouth.  _ watch the fucking hair, dickhead,  _ technoblade wanted to say, much to his disappointment the muzzle wasn’t quite off and he was pretty interested in dinner that night-- so he shut himself up. the man behind him grumbled in response and eventually, the muzzle and mouth guard came loose and too cluttered to the ground next to techno.

the young piglin hybrid resisted his urge to sigh out loud- something he had been doing alot today, he realized. the man collected the restraints, and without a glance he stalked out of technoblades cell-- locking it behind him, of course. tech allowed himself to relax, standing idly in the middle of his cell and stretching out his limbs. he stank of blood, sweat and dirt; a bittersweet memory of what today had brought him. with his mouth tasting sour, he made his way over to the small basin and pump of water the cell had so graciously given him.

sitting down gently on the floor next to it, he began to pump water into the small bowl carefully so as to not spill it on the ground. technoblade didn’t need to look up to feel ranboo’s eyes on the back of his head, letting out a feinted grumble, he called out: “hello, ranboo.” 

his voice was gruff from not speaking for so long, a dry and scratchy undertone to it- he apologized mentally to anyone he startled with it. there was a short silence, before ranboo immediately perked up with a response. “wow, you didn’t even look at me to respond! that’s so cool.” he hummed out, his voice long and distant from across the hall. there was always a certain accent to ranboo’s voice, something foreign and unknown that technoblade didn’t recognize- almost like static. 

“i can feel you burning holes into the back of my head, y’know, you’re not very sneaky. is this ‘bout how my hairs shorter?” technoblade continued to pump water into the basin.

“woah, your hair  _ is  _ shorter! holy heck, i didn’t even notice-- i just thought that--”

ranboos endless chatter filled out the silence, technoblade running his fingers through his tangled and bloody locks. ranboo leaning against the bars of his cell to look so attentively at tech as he retold his tale of the arena today, technoblade laying his hair flat out on his blanket to dry it out. puffy joining in the conversation with some tales or stories of her own, calvins bright laughter filling out fat silences when it’s needed. ant shouting at them to quiet down, calvin telling him to shut the fuck up. 

this wasn’t home, but it’s as home as technoblade will get for now. 

-

the voices grow louder as the sun sets. 

there's an itch beneath his skin and his breathing is frantic in his chest, violent shivers wracking through his scarred form every so often. his eyes are screwed shut and his legs are twitching uncomfortably against the slightly damp fabric of his blanket. the voices are screaming-- shouting, arguing with each other or trying to urge technoblade to do  _ something. _ tech hasn’t quite figured out what they want, yet. 

the chatter in his head had been there since he first learned to think, starting off as one and grew into tens of thousands. they were his first friend, first enemy and first parent; first everything. small and large, quiet or shouting- they were one of the only things technoblade could trust wouldn’t go away. sometimes they helped him, sometimes they spoke to watch techno’s downfall, some only spoke up with praise or comfort when technoblade needed it most.

techno wish that he could hear one of those voices right now.

ranboo and puffy had long since fallen asleep, leaving technoblade alone to wallow in his own thoughts and emotions. while ringing out his hair and gently brushing his fingers through it, he allowed himself to feel- allowed himself to think about the stew of emotions that had been brewing on the massacre he had committed earlier that day. his stomach lurched uncomfortably, sharp canines suddenly feeling too dangerous in his own mouth. it was always like this after a horrible match, tech could vividly feel the sword still heavy in his blood stained hands. his mind foggy and cloudy with the instinctual thought of survival hard on his conscience. 

**[“you are a monster!, technokill, it’s okay, you are strong, poor child, blood for the blood god, it’s okay, technoscared--,”** _ the voices chattered nervously.] _

technoblade gritted his teeth nervously, feeling his bottom canines beginning to dig into his gums. he ignored the taste of blood in his mouth, trying to ignore the increasing volume of the voices. they were relentless, most of them calling for blood or to escape- some asking for ranboo, or puffy for help. techno thought it might’ve been a good idea, but it was soon washed away by the guilt of annoying them-- they didn’t need to hear his problems. shifting from his side to his back, he forced himself to open his eyes to stare up at the ceiling.

there was a peony printed crudely on it, overlapping petals drawn messily and leaves clipped off to the side. techno remembers that it used to be pink, but sometime during one of his fits of rage he had chipped off the material of the paint. now, it sits half ruined and stained with dried blood-- like a memento that technoblade ruins everything he touches. it made the voices in his voice grow quiet for a moment, before murmurs began to flood back into his head. he didn’t bother to listen, instead focusing on not sobbing out loud.

there were tears pricking the sides of his eyes, burning hot and raw. technoblade hadn’t cried since he was put into isolation around six years ago- he wasn’t sure why it was so tempting now. 

raising a shaky hand, he attempted to rub away the beginnings. doing this, he realized how much he was trembling; shaking so violently he was sure that the bedframe was rocking. more tears replaced the ones that had been rubbed away, short sniffles falling short in technoblade’s throat. it was so loud-- too cold, could still feel vividly the way blood had splattered against his face and hands when he took the life of yet another person.

what was the number, again? he had been taking lives since he was eight years old, taking away souls permanently from families who had used to love them. he didn’t care that they were prisoners; criminals, murderers like himself- they didn’t deserve to fucking die. he hated the way the voices started to crave blood, that the sob of agony people let out when they died became familiar to him. he hated the way that people feared him, a child- more than they feared death. because in the arena, he wasn’t technoblade-- a kidnapped piglin hybrid forced to kill to keep his own life, no; he was the boar, a murderous freak who only craved blood and despair. he was the definition of a bad person. 

tears began to stream down his cheeks, fat and heavy and speaking for where tech’s mouth couldn’t. he choked back each pathetic noise that threatened to rip out of his mouth, voices arguing with themselves in his mind. every so often, a choke or whimper called out raw in his throat- echoing silently in the concrete expanse of the cell block. 

wow, he really was a bad person, wasn’t he? 

techno’s sobs grew more anxious, more frequent as he indulged himself in self hatred. the voices either attempted to comfort him or egg him on, conflicting each other or becoming violent in their words. he didn’t attempt to silence himself, mind too foggy with thoughts to realize he might’ve been bothering someone-- he didn’t care, let them hear.

**[“technocry, shut up, you’re annoying them, you are a bad person, sadnoblade, you’re not a bad person, puffy and ranboo love you, you are good-- i love you!--”** _ the voices fought.] _

technoblade rocked himself to sleep to the sounds of antfrost’s snoring, the sound of wind whistling outside and the pleasing feeling of tears running down the pale expanse of his cheeks.

the peony sat dormant on the ceiling of his cell, a reminder that he will never be happy here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there!! i hope you enjoyed. new chapter should come out in the next few days-- don't count me on that, please im very indecisive 
> 
> you can really tell i love puffy huh  
> ALSO PUT CALVIN IN FANFIC MORE!!! he deserves it motherfuckers  
> i am favoring techno you can see   
> talk to me
> 
> twt: lovesicksailor  
> discord: puddle#0104


	3. maybe we exist to bleed / maybe we exist to burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy receives some fucking love for once in his life

the rats squeak quietly in the distance. 

tommy can hear the soft pattering of their feet against the rotting wood ceiling, mothers looking for food to feed to their young. they don’t reach the room where he lays, still and tucked under a blanket that is slightly cozier than normal. tommy woke up hours ago, yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. there he laid, staring idly at a wall and listening to the sound of the wind howling outside.

he went through slipping in and out of consciousness for the first hour of being awake, the pain coming in hot waves that shook the fledgling's body to it’s center. he remembers shuddering where he sat, too weak to muster anymore tears and too tired to try to console himself. he shivered even though it was not cold, and he shrugged off blankets even though he was not hot. he remembers feeling an overwhelming sense of dread sealing his throat, letting it simmer and choke there for a long time. tommy remembers becoming familiar with it within the hour, ignoring the way his eyes longed for sleep but his mind urged him to stay awake. 

sometimes, he would feel one of his limbs twitch or his muscles relax and he would feel another cold pulse of pain shock it’s way through his thin form. he could tell multiple things were broken, evident by the feeling of bandages wrapped around some of his limbs. his wings were wrapped as well, careless and messy. everytime he shifted them slightly he could feel the rough material brush against raw skin or scarred flesh. tommy resisted the urge to sob out loud everytime it did, a much more instinctual part of him crying out in mourning.

he could hear other kids walking outside of the room he was placed in, footsteps quiet and their voices halting as they passed it. with a lazy blink, tommy silently thanked them for it. the pounding headache he had gave it’s thanks as well. another part of tommy seethed with rage, torn apart by the displays of what had happened yesterday. no one had come for him, no one had helped; they just watched. with beady eyes and down turned mouths, they watched because they were afraid. 

they did not want to end up like tommy, so they ignored him entirely.

it hurt. both physically and mentally, made tommy want to curl in on himself and wither away for eternia. he felt humiliated and pissed off, regretful yet he still longed for more. he longed for a hand to hold, to grab when he needed someone else to stabilize himself. he wanted to be appreciated, to be cared for like a mother would her child. he wanted to  _ belong,  _ was tired of feeling out of place in his own life. he was so fucking exhausted of feeling like a side character in a book that was made to be his own, wanted to be like the princes in fairy tales or the loved child whose fathers would break down mountains for their kin. wanted to be the main character in a story that got a happy ending.

_ with a sour taste in his mouth, tommy realized that he would not get that here.  _

no one would get a happy ending in this place. in a world where his wings were treated like fresh material to be sold on a market, where he got kicked around like a football and none of his caretakers bat an eye. he’d seen orphan after orphan die here, wither away in their own pile of sweat and tears and no one else mourn for them. 

_ would he be that orphan, one day? _

a cold sweat rattled through his body, a soft hiss leaving between gritted teeth. tommy squeezed his eyes shut on the oncoming pain, attempting to distract himself from the waves that rolled in like the tide. tommy had never seen the ocean before; only heard about it from others, seen portraits of it in books tossed at him as schooling. the books spoke of water for miles, so salty that merchants could spend their entire lives collecting and it still wouldn’t be all of it. avians and birds trekking journeys above its waves, reaching places that men with two legs could never dream of stepping foot on. 

tommy wondered if the sea was forgiving. if tommy pledged his life and soul to the sea, would it smile and wish the fledgling it’s best regards? would it push him aside, sending his body out to the sea and swallowing him whole? would he sink to the bottom, drown in not the water but his own selfish sorrow? would it grab him by his ankles and tell him to repent for sins that he did not commit? was it a sin to wish, to long? 

if it was, tommy would be far along his way by now. 

with thoughts still heavy on his conscience, tommy eased himself to sleep through the mindless rambling of his own mind and the dulling pain in every crevice of his body.

-

tommy woke to the cluttering of metal in the drawer beside him. 

his limbs still ached as soon as he shifted in his wake, although the pain had gone down quite a bit. he realized that it didn’t make him want to cry as soon as he moved his wrist, or he didn’t want to sleep away the day when he felt the headache that had plagued him had finally left. lugging his eyes finally open, bright blue met startling white and tommy shot back with an alarmed cry.

someone with sterilized gloves stood next to him with a grimace plastered on their face, sunglasses sat on top of their head buried under thick brown locks. they were dressed in a white button-down shirt, tie made neatly and sitting on their chest. they wore a skirt from what tommy could see, black and neatly made-- unlike most things in the orphanage. instantly, tommy felt a shrill emotion alight in his lungs and suddenly he realized he wasn’t breathing. 

taking a deep breath, tommy shakingly peered back at the person with tense shoulders. they seemed to notice, a hesitant smile appearing on their lips. it seemed genuine enough- like it belonged there.

“it’s okay, little guy- i’m here to help. i didn’t expect you to wake up so soon, though…” they trailed off into their own thoughts, pointed white eyes falling to the ground and staring at it as if it would give them answers. small, black horns revealed themselves to tommy beyond the expanse of their hair, and tommy’s inner hybrid chirped in delight; they were like him. 

this stranger’s species did little to unnerve tommy, still shaking in his place where he had flinched back in his panic. he attempted to squeeze himself against the wall further, instead cursing and yelping when he had accidentally crushed his injured wings against the wall. he folded over slightly, shivering in the hot pain that coursed through his body at once. his wings pathetically twitched behind him.

the stranger seemed to spark into action as soon as they noticed tommy was hurt, approaching his bedside and spitting out words so fast tommy couldn’t comprehend. he couldn’t hear them anyway, too busy stuck in his own world of grievance and self depreciation. he was whimpering unconsciously under his breath, his eyes screwed shut and he didn’t even stutter away when he felt a foreign hand touch his wings. 

“--opened old wounds, i need to apply a healing pot and new bandages--” they finally cut through tommy’s inner turmoil, tone tight and serious. they were gentle on tommy’s wings, which he was internally grateful for. they preened through his feathers lightly, their touch was forgiving and almost homely. tommy was tempted to relax in his tired haze, his mind shrieking in protest as he realized with a startled jolt his wings were bleeding. he could feel the droplets pool down his blonde feathers and drip onto his back, staining scarred white skin blood red.

they slowly untangled the bandages from the injured wing, one at a time. tommy’s eyes were still tightly shut, but he could hear a liquid sloshing around in a bottle close by. the stranger let out a sharp exhale, hands hovering dangerously close to an open wound. “the fuck are you doing?” the eleven year old spat, his words pained. the stranger’s movement halted, warm palms barely touching injured feathers. tommy quickly interjected their to-be words, spitting out a “get on with it already” and ignoring the tinge of pain his throat was met with as he spoke. silence answered tommy, and the hands on his wings felt solemn. quietly, tommy wondered if he’d ever fly again. with an even quieter thought, he wondered if dream would do it again if he could. 

the bandages that were matted to his wings came off, tommy saw from the corner of his eye that they were stained with dried blood. he whimpered in defeat as a particularly unforgiving gust of wind touched open wound, and the stranger hushed him affectionately. every move they made was so out of his world, so foreign. tommy had never experienced anything like this before. they did not curse him or shove him in places that would hurt, they didn’t glare at him or roll his eyes like he was a nuisance. if anything, they were looking at him with an apologetic look; their white eyes down tilted in a way that told stories of sorrow.

he heard the soft pop of a cork unscrewing from a bottle, and suddenly the stranger was murmuring to him and untangling one of tommy’s hands so they could hold it. tommy’s hand was tiny in comparison to the strangers, chubby baby fat still clung to his bones and the strangers were long and dainty. their fingers tightly squeezed his, reassuring and not faltering. tommy squeezed back. “this is going to hurt and feel a bit strange… i’m sorry, love. i’m assuming your caretakers haven’t used potions on you before this, so it’ll take a bit for your body to comprehend the mana. it’ll be alright, honey.” as they spoke, their free hand gently brushed over tommy’s injury and he shuddered in slight dismay. they softly brushed back feathers so that his wound was on display.

the stranger counted mindlessly to him, their voice deep and oddly relaxing in tommy’s head. he was tempted to, but he seized up as soon as he felt a smooth liquid drip over his wings. at first, it was pleasant; cold, and for an instant bringing relief to the constant pain tommy had been feeling since he woke. the next moment a burning pain rushed over his wings and then his whole body, something he had never felt before in his life.

it felt like it was trying to eat him from the inside, boiling and branding it across the expanse of what tommy was at heart. he choked out a broken sob, loud and unfiltered- he could vaguely feel tears start pouring down his face in fat globs. the pain was constant, trailing up the insides of his wrists to the indent of his tiny dimples. he felt his skin pick itself up and start to stitch itself together, feeling his wounds start to heal by themselves. they were mending, and slowly the pain started not to burn as much. 

the child folded in on himself, another choke flying from his mouth like a skeleton’s arrow into flesh. he shivered like he was in the middle of a blizzard, his feathers fluffed up and made him appear more like a terrified chicken than a young fledgling. he clutched at the sheets that were splayed over his lanky body, knuckles white with exasperation. “hurts.” croaked the eleven year old, tears beginning to drip damp spots onto the covers below him. the stranger placed a hand onto his head, and curled their fingers comfortingly into his locks. tommy flinched slightly at the contact, his body still facing the impact of what the potion had left on him. they shushed him for a short moment, before gently pushing him down and placing his head onto a pillow. 

they tucked him back into bed, blankets up to his armpits and a wet cloth was placed neatly over his forehead. “sleep, honey. it’s okay.” they murmured, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. lingering for a moment, they pulled their hand away from his blonde hair and glanced down into his eyes. “we’ll talk more when you wake, okay?”

tommy didn’t respond, only now realizing the tired haze that had washed over him. the adrenaline had pushed it to the back of his worries, for it to only hit him ten times as hard at the worst time. his eyelids felt heavy, and he left the grip of sleep draw him in.

tommy was lulled to sleep by the thought of the sea, and the light filtering through the stained glass window over his bed.

for once, he felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there
> 
> sorry for the late update, got burnt out and some shit happened in my life that i would not like to disclose. have been taking some time to deal with it
> 
> i apologize if this chapter isn't up to par-- i wrote it in the span of a week, maybe? albeit very slowly, some parts may not be on the same wavelength as the others, sorry eheheh
> 
> if you can't tell, tis eret. why eret? no idea. love them, though
> 
> TALK TO ME  
> twt: lovesicksailor  
> discord: toby#2840

**Author's Note:**

> HI THERE!!!
> 
> hopefully i don't give up on this fic-- your comments make it better wink wink-
> 
> i got the idea for this fic trying to imagine a scenario for me to sleep to. i realized that this was too good and i couldn't just pass it up, so whoopdeedoo here we FUCKING ARE!! lmfao anyway uhh i'm planning for this either to be tommy-centric or for the povs to be switching from tommy to techno each chapter-- i'll figure out which when i post next.
> 
> i'm really, really excited for this fic!! i hope it goes well lmfao
> 
> talk to me
> 
> twt: lovesicksailor  
> discord: puddle#0104


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